Page 34 of Scotlander

She tried to imagine him paired with Fenella. Annoyingly, it worked. She was petite, gorgeous and feisty. She knew farming life like the back of her hand and had yet to pop out of her corset and make a complete fool of herself. They’d make a fine yesteryear couple. Or ChiChi. She was smart, beautiful and cocooned in a cloud of sensual intellectualism that meant she and Finn could outwit any trouble they might encounter whilst engaged in mesmerising swordplay. Or he could be Jennifer’s toyboy for the week. Jules’s experiment in pansexuality. Anyone apart from Willa, the one person whose eye contact he was fastidiously avoiding.

Having given everyone a chance to ogle the ‘talent’, Orla continued, ‘Far-um work can be hard and dangerous and, as you can see from our assembled Highlanders, we will be pairing you with someone who is used to the rigours of survival.’

Survival?

They were getting married to a stranger and then having to fight for their survival? What was this? Corset-and-Kilt Hunger Games?

‘This is so bloody brilliant!’ Fenella did another happy dance.

ChiChi unleashed a throaty cackle laugh.

Jennifer was quietly scanning the men with a mix of nerves and hopefulness whilst Jules’s cheeks turned a bright, happy pink.

Willa jabbed Gabe in the side with her elbow but he remained motionless, staring straight ahead at the line of future spouses.

And that’s when she realised he wasn’t staring at the group. He was staring at just one of them. Hipster guy. Who was staring right back at him. At the moment she clocked what was going on, Gabe turned on his heel and walked out of the courtyard.

Hipster guy took after him, the hidden pleats of his black kilt flashing out with each stride in bright, unmistakable, colours of the rainbow.

Chapter Thirteen

‘Willa, wait! We’ve not done the handfasting!’

Among the many things Finn had expected to happen today, elbowing Dougie out of Orla’s hare-brained scheme so he could fake bind himself to a woman who clearly disliked him was not one of them.

And yet, here he was, racing after her as if the actual love of his life had left him at the altar.

Though she’d had a head start, he easily caught up to her beneath the archway that led out to the main drive. The dress looked like it weighed a tonne. He lunged forward and grabbed her hand. She tried to tug it away. In yet another out-of-character move, he pulled her to him, holding her close. ‘Leave him, lass. Let me look after you while they gather themselves.’

He winced. The line sounded like something straight out of a costume drama which, all things considered, wasn’t entirely out of place.

‘But—!’ She looked up at him, her dark eyes flashing with irritation, short, sharp breaths turning into little clouds of cinnamon-scented air between them. ‘Wait.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘If I’m not being bound to Gabe . . .’ Her brain wove together what he’d said as he’d been sprinting after her. ‘Oh, you are kidding me, right? You’re who I’m being bound to?’

‘Why not say how you really feel?’ he sniped back.

Her expression shifted. She was upset. Hadn’t meant it as an actual slight. He shouldn’t have snapped. ‘Sorry, I just—’ She hard-stared at him for a moment then said, ‘I’m not being paired with Gabe.’ It was more statement than question. As if she was rewriting a mental checklist.

He shook his head no. ‘I’m afraid the powers that be stuck you with me.’ If you looked at it from a certain squinty-eyed angle, this was completely true.

Her gaze flicked out to where Gabe and Lachlan had disappeared.

He let go of her arms. Holding her in a clutch better suited to the likes of Mr Darcy felt weird now.

Willa stepped back and rubbed her fingers against her temples as if trying to grind the new set of circumstances into her brain. ‘Sorry to be a thicko. Let’s blame jetlag. I need to get this straight. I’m not being bound to Gabe.’

‘Not so far as I know.’

She sucked in a breath to ask another question, shook her head, looked over her shoulder at the space where Gabe had gone and then back at him. ‘Is he being bound to Rainbow Kilt Man?’ She tacked on a little laugh to indicate she knew it was a bonkers suggestion, but . . .

Finn knew the answer, but Willa didn’t seem entirely ready for a solid ‘yes’ just yet. Finding out her boyfriend might not be that into her was something that needed to come from the source. He’d seen the yearning look she’d thrown at Gabe’s door when he’d led her to her room last night. Clocked it right in his gut because for some stupid reason it had rankled. Now, though, he felt bad for her. Coming all this way to have your world blown apart was something he wouldn’t wish on anyone. ‘I believe that was the plan.’

To be fair, he didn’t definitively know whether or not Gabe was gay. Lachlan was. All he knew was what Orla had told him this morning: Lachlan and Gabe – who had been booked as Gabriella – had been a special request from the beginning. According to the booking forms, ‘Gabriella’ had had a lifelong dream of doing yoga by a loch with this particular teacher and was willing to pay extra to make it happen. It had taken Orla ages to book him, but she’d finally convinced him on the basis that some Americans were coming, and they’d heard about his wild yoga retreats and that maybe it would be a good opportunity to go international. Or maybe he’d needed the money. Who knew? Orla had so many plates spinning right now there was barely air between them. When she found out Gabriella was actually a Gabe . . . she’d been up half the night fretting about it, trying to ring the woman who’d booked the trip, getting a disconnected number. In the end, she’d decided to go with the-customer’s-always-right mantra, even if the paying customer wasn’t actually here. When Finn was told Dougie was the one who’d be paired with Willa, he’d volunteered to take his place. Dougie was many things, but Teflon-skinned was not one of them. Finn on the other hand? What did he care if an LA superfan hated his guts? Scots were meant to be roughtie-toughtie warrior-types, right? He could play strong and silent for a fortnight. Or however long it took Willa to pack her enormous bag and head back to the land of sunshine and Botox. ‘His name’s Lachlan,’ Finn volunteered. ‘He’s not a local.’

Willa tilted her chin to the side and looked up at him. Her warm brown eyes were full of questions. ‘That’s weird, right?’

‘What? Not being local?’

‘No! Keep up, Sherlock. Not being paired with the person you came with. And also—’ Her voice wavered. ‘Being paired with a guy when you’re not gay is a bit . . . it’s a risk from your point of view, right?’